


if it's not like coming home

by folignos



Category: Hockey RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-19
Updated: 2016-04-19
Packaged: 2018-06-03 06:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6600700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/folignos/pseuds/folignos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Antoine can’t sleep.</p>
<p>Normally he wouldn’t feel guilty about that, except for how the hotel they’re staying in has monumentally fucked up, and only given the team half of the rooms they were supposed to. Front office decided the team had to suck it up and deal with it, and so now Antoine is sharing an admittedly huge bed with a teammate, and trying desperately to go to sleep before Sharpy snaps and murders him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if it's not like coming home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [4thWall4evah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/4thWall4evah/gifts).



> 4thwall4evah wanted roussel/anyone and bedsharing. somehow, this is what happened. i'm sorry?

Antoine can’t sleep.

Normally he wouldn’t feel guilty about that, except for how the hotel they’re staying in has monumentally fucked up, and only given the team half of the rooms they were supposed to. Front office decided the team had to suck it up and deal with it, and so now Antoine is sharing an admittedly huge bed with a teammate, and trying desperately to go to sleep before Sharpy snaps and murders him.

He can tell Sharpy’s awake by the way he keeps sighing every time Antoine moves, and he’s trying to stop, really, he is, but he just-- can’t get comfy.

Sharpy’s back is to him, the covers pulled up to his neck. ‘ _Please_ lie still,’ he says suddenly, tiredly, when Antoine rolls over onto his back again, kicking his feet out of the covers.

‘I’m trying,’ he says, mournfully. Sharpy sighs again.

‘Try harder,’ he says. ‘Or I’ll _make_ you lie still.’

Antoine huffs, and stares at the ceiling.

‘I can’t sleep,’ he says, eventually.

Sharpy heaves the biggest sigh yet, and rolls onto his back. The sheets slip, exposing his bare shoulders and the top of his chest; Antoine isn’t sure why he insisted on sleeping shirtless, but it’s what happened, so. He dealt with it.

‘You can’t sleep,’ he says, dry.

‘Normally I listen to white noise,’ Antoine admits. ‘But I left my headphones on the plane. So now I’m just-- stuck.’

‘Being awake doesn’t mean you have to writhe around the bed like you’re being attacked,’ Sharpy says. ‘Are you this restless when you’re actually asleep? Because I may have to smother you in the night if you are.’

Antoine shrugs. ‘My last girlfriend didn’t complain. She didn’t stay the whole night often though.’

‘I think I figured out why,’ Sharpy says. ‘You have ten minutes. Get it all out of your system. Then you’re gonna lie still, Rous, or so help me God.’

Antoine shuffles onto his side, shoves the sheets down a little further, and then rolls onto his belly, nestling his head into the crook of an elbow. He’s facing the wrong way, but he hears Sharpy roll back onto his side and shift a little before settling, easy.

Antoine tries to stay still. He really does. He hears Sharpy’s breathing, slow and even, and tries to match it, but his hips are lying wrong and his arm is going numb under his head and-- He shifts, minutely, but the bed creaks, and he freezes.

‘You’re killin’ me, bud,’ Sharpy mumbles.

‘Sorry,’ Antoine tries.

The bed creaks again as Sharpy moves, rolling all the way and throwing a leg and an arm over him, pinning him. Antoine freezes, and then pushes at him. ‘What the fuck?’

‘If you can’t lie still,’ Sharpy says, low, in his ear, ‘I’m gonna make you lie still. Go the fuck to sleep already, Rous.’

Antoine pushes against him a little more, but Sharpy’s bigger and stronger, and Antoine-- is trapped, so he stops. He lies still, and thinks, and Sharpy is warm, and firm, and his breath is hot on the back of his neck, three or four days of stubble tickling just a little. It’s not unpleasant. It’s kind of the opposite, actually, and-- oh no.

Antoine closes his eyes and tries to will his erection away. It is less than successful. He thanks God and whoever else is listening that he’s lying belly down, so it’s pressing into the mattress, and not into Sharpy. He closes his eyes and thinks about ice baths and the smell of his hockey gloves and that weird rash that went around the locker room last year, and doesn’t realise he’s fallen asleep until Sharpy’s alarm is going off.

Sharpy rolls off him and out of bed, easy, and leaves Antoine in the pile of blankets. Antoine hears the shower start up, and opens his eyes. Fuck.

-

They don’t talk about it. Demers makes a crack about how Johnny likes to be little spoon at team breakfast the next morning, making the rest of the D roar with laughter. Antoine eats his eggs and keeps his head down, and doesn’t think about Sharpy murmuring into his ear.

The game is fine. They don’t win, but it’s fine. Antoine doesn’t think about that, either. The hotel fixed the room issue, and he doesn’t have to share tonight, and he bought some new headphones, so he can listen to his white noise app until he drops off. It’s fine.

He can’t sleep.

He tosses and turns and tosses again, and watches the blinking light on the digital clock for longer than he thought possible, before he sighs, and hauls himself out of bed.

-

Sharpy looks murderous when he opens the door. He’s wearing soft looking boxer-briefs, and his hair is a disaster, and he still hasn’t shaved.

‘Don’t say it,’ he says, gruff. Antoine stands in the doorway, hands in his pockets, and shrugs.

‘Okay,’ he says, and stays where he is. Sharpy glares, and then stands to one side, letting him in.

‘This isn’t going to become a thing,’ he says, getting back into bed, leaving enough space for Antoine.

‘Okay,’ he says again, and before he can overthink it, slides under the sheets and lies on his front, same as the night before.

Sharpy settles on top of him again, a little-- snugger than before. His hips line up with Antoine’s, and his arm sneaks underneath Antoine’s shoulder so his hand is under the pillow.

‘Don’t worry,’ Sharpy says, just as Antoine’s starting to relax. ‘I won’t tell the team.’

Antoine hadn’t even thought of that. His breath hitches a little, and he tenses.

‘No, really,’ Sharpy says, quiet, calming. ‘It’s none of their business, kid.’

Antoine realises something all of a sudden, ‘You’ve done this before, haven’t you?’

‘Hockey players are, on average, restless fuckers,’ Sharpy says. ‘You’re not my first, Rous.’

‘Oh,’ he says, lame. ‘Okay.’

Sharpy shifts his weight, and all the tension just bleeds out of Antoine, like magic. He makes a soft sound, and melts into the mattress, eyes slipping shut.

-

‘Uh,’ Antoine says in the morning, watching Sharpy tie his shoes. He glances up, halfway through the knot. ‘Thanks.’

‘No problem,’ he says, and looks back down, finishing the bow tightly.

‘It, uh. Won’t happen again,’ he says, lightly. Sharpy looks up at him again, frowning.

‘It’s not a big deal,’ he says. ‘If you need it, you need it. You’re fine, kid.’ He gives Antoine a grin. ‘You’re not the worst, anyway.’

‘Really?’ Antoine asks, despite himself. ‘Who--?’

‘Seabs snored like the bellows,’ Sharpy confides, laughing a little. ‘And Jason talks in his sleep. You’re restless, Rous, but at least you’re silent.’

Antoine frowns. ‘How many people do you do this for?’

‘Right now, just you. Jason, kind of. It used to be a lot more, but. That was in Chicago.’

Sharpy quietens after that, focuses on making sure his tie is tied properly, and his jacket lies right. Antoine, in his sweats, feels sloppy next to him.

‘Thanks,’ he says, again.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Sharpy says. ‘It’s nice to be needed. Besides, Jason is really cute when he’s jealous.’ He winks, and Antoine startles, putting two and two together.

An alarm goes off, and Sharpy jabs at his phone. ‘You should go get into your suit, kid,’ he says. ‘Bus leaves in twenty.’ He stands, and pulls Antoine into an unsuspecting hug that feels-- different from the usual bro-hugs he gets from the team. Sharpy has a hand in the small of his back, and it’s steadying.

‘You’re a good kid,’ Sharpy says. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

So Antoine heads back to his own room, gets his suit on, tries to flatten his hair, and doesn’t worry about it.

 


End file.
